


The Private Chef

by f0rever15elf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Angst, F/M, Food mentions, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Smut, death mentions, non-explicit descriptions of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rever15elf/pseuds/f0rever15elf
Summary: After a new job offer lands you on the small island of Malta, you begin your life as a private chef for a local resort. It is there that Oberyn Martell saunters into your life.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell / reader, Oberyn Martell / you
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> A modern AU centered around Oberyn Martell. There will be angst and drama, heart break and comfort. I hope you enjoy.

“I gotta get out of here,” you sigh, scraping down the griddle top of the day’s grease. “Two years at the number one culinary school in the country, and I’m stuck scraping down griddles and cleaning grease traps in a back alley diner in the Bronx.” You continue to grumble as you work, sweat dripping from your brow. As you go to clean the grease trap, it catches in its track so you tug a bit harder until it sharply slips from its hold, spilling chunky, food bit filled grease all over your shoes and the floor. Looking down at the mess, you feel the desire to walk out bubble up in your throat, but swallow it back down as you take a deep breath. It tastes bitter on your tongue, but the work must be done, you need this job. “Stupid fucking outdated grease traps in this stupid fucking diner in this stupid fucking neighborhood.”

You had never planned to end up here, covered in rancid grease for barely minimum wage. You had grandiose ideas of graduating culinary school and scoring a top catering job with one of the dozens of glitzy restaurants or private catering companies that dotted New York City. You were going to make it big, you thought. You were going to make a name for yourself. Especially when you were accepted into the Culinary Institute of America. You could see your path laid out before you, it would be brilliant. 

But no, you’re getting your shoes covered in rancid grease in a diner that you’re far too overqualified for, and you’re still barely making rent. The Big Apple, where dreams go to die.

Hours later, you finally make your way back into your dimly lit studio apartment, stinking of grease and sweat and whatever was in that puddle that got splashed on you on your walk home. The ceiling of this place is cracked and the faucet leaks. The walls are thin and your neighbors would put rabbits to shame and you were pretty sure there was a mouse problem, but for your own sanity you tried not to think about that. How did you end up here? What happened to your ideas of grandeur? “I gotta get somewhere else, anywhere else,” you say to no one in particular, heading to your room to change and take a shower, trying to wash off the stench of grease that seems to taint everything you own. When you’ve finally scoured your skin to the point of it bordering on raw, you decide to get out and try to get some semblance of rest before you go through this hell all over again tomorrow. Same shit, different day.

Falling into bed with a sigh, you reach over to grab your phone, praying that somewhere had picked up your resume and taken interest in your talents. “Junk. Junk. Junk. Spam. Oh hello…” You sit up, opening an email titled _‘Private Chef Opening – Malta Luxury_ _Villa_ _s’_ catching your attention. Starting a few weeks ago, you had been plastering your resume anywhere and everywhere, determined to get out of this hellhole. Maybe this was the opportunity you needed. Skimming the email, your heart hammers in your chest.

‘ _Hello Madam,_

_We thank you for your interest in the position of Private Chef for our villa resort. Your qualifications are most impressive and we would be interested in scheduling an interview in person with you at your soonest convenience. We recognize you currently reside outside of Malta and will therefor arrange travel, room, and board for you for the duration of the interview process, as well as a return trip should the job turn out to not be a good fit for you. Should we agree you a perfect fit for the job, then your start date will be immediate, and we will arrange to have your things moved here to you via our top of the line moving service._

_Should you be interested in arranging this interview, please respond to this email with your earliest possible meeting time. Plan for a week departure beginning on the day with which you reply_

_We look forward to hearing from you, and strongly hope you consider our offer._

_All the best,_

_Alessia Camilleri,  
Malta Luxury Villas Hiring Coordinator’_

You fall back against the mattress, spread eagle as you stare at the ceiling in a bit of a daze. This is it. This is your chance! You’d get out of this dead end job, out of this god awful apartment in this town that had squeezed the life out of you since you graduated years ago. Taking a deep breath, you pen your reply.

‘ _Dear Miss Camilleri,_

_Thank you so much for this generous offer. I am available to travel for an interview beginning the day after tomorrow. I will take tomorrow to pack and get things settled here and then I am ready to be on my way._

_The terms previously outlined are agreeable. What all do you need from me to start this process moving forward?_

_Very respectfully,’_

You sign off with your name, sending the email off. For the first time in years, you feel hopeful. This is going to be the beginning of something amazing, you can feel it.

Turn around for organizing your flight was done with an expedition the likes of which you have never seen before, and in three days time you’re leaving New York behind, a nervous excitement firing through your veins as you take to the air. You had applied to this job on a whim, having heard good things about Malta from a buzzfeed article of all things before looking it up on your own. It looked absolutely stunning from the photos. You had never expected a reply, but you certainly wouldn’t argue when fortune presented herself to you.

As promised, when you disembark at Malta International Airport, a driver is waiting for you. He greets you with a pleasant smile and a gentle hello in a soft voice laced with notes of Italian influence, yet still uniquely its own. The man takes your suitcase from you, leading you out to BMW worth more than you would make in a year at your old job, opening the door for you. You thank him, sliding into the seat with your bag on your lap. He shuts the door before loading your suitcase and climbing in front.

“We have a bit of a drive to the coast, ma’am. About 45 minutes. If you have questions about the area as we drive, please ask and I will explain to you in the best of my ability.” He smiles at you through the rear view mirror before starting the car and beginning your drive. The landscape is absolutely stunning. In the city, there is a mix of old and new. Buildings older than you could imagine meet modern technology and architecture in a blend unique to places like these. The roads are narrow and filled with foot and car traffic, same as any big city. It almost reminds you of New York. As you make your way to the country side, the road opens, the city giving way to gently sloping farm land dotted with shrub brush that races to meet the azure sky. _It’s beautiful_ , you think. Eventually, the coast comes into view, a steep ledge dropping off into the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. You press yourself against the window, looking out in awe and the driver chuckles when he catches a glimpse of you in the mirror. “You will get a much closer look at the resort. You enjoy the ocean?”

“I do,” you whisper. “I love to swim, but the water where I’m from was always too cold. I’ve heard the Med is excellent for swimming.”

He hums in agreement, nodding as you look back at him. “Indeed it is. We have many sea turtles as well that you may see if you go swimming here.” If your eyes could actually sparkle, then at this moment they would. You have been in Malta for only an hour, and already you don’t want to leave. Hell, maybe even if you don’t get the job, you’ll move here and find some place else to work. Your day dreaming is cut short as the driver pulls up to the entrance to a luxurious looking resort, pulling into the circle drive and parking before coming to open your door. “Ms. Camilleri will meet you inside ma’am. I will take your suitcase and carry-on to your quarters.”

“Oh, thank you. Just one moment.” You quickly dig out a manila folder filled with the documents you think you might need before handing the bag back to him, thanking him for all of his help. He smiles and nods before ushering you inside.

The lobby of the front room is simple, yet elegant. Gorgeous paintings in bright colors and abstract design hang from the walls, brightening the pale stone room. A warm soft light from the crystal chandelier lights the room where the sunlight does not reach after filtering through the gentle gossamer curtains. Your pumps click on the floor as you head to the front desk, explaining your arrival until a strong, sing-song voice calls your name, drawing your attention behind you. A gorgeous woman with sun kissed skin and beautifully round cheeks makes her way to you, her dark hair up in a sleek bun. She seems all business, her pencil skirt down to her mid-calf and a sleek blazer over a crisp white shirt shows she’s in charge. You stand a little straighter, rolling your shoulders back despite the exhaustion from the flight.

“Yes, that’s me. You must be Ms. Camilleri?” She smiles and nods, extending her hand to you. You grasp hers, returning her firm handshake and she nods in approval.

“Welcome to Malta.” That distinct accent sounds so good on her tongue, it amazes you. “Come this way, please. I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you’re tired from your long flight. I trust everything went well?” You follow after her, matching her confident strides as she leads you down the hall.

“Yes, everything was perfect. Thank you again for the abundant generosity for this opportunity.” She smiles at your politeness, leading you into an office room.

“Take a seat. Did you bring the documents requested?” You nod, sitting before handing her the manila folder.

“All the copies are in there. If you need originals, I’d prefer to be present when you copy them. Just as a precaution since I’m abroad at the moment.”

“Of course, I understand. It’s a wise thing, doing this. These copies will be fine.” She closes the folder, pushing it to the side as she smiles at you. “Your interview process begins tomorrow. We will walk you through the kitchens, giving you little tests from our current chefs. They’ll educate you on the processes here, and at the end of the third day, you’ll be given an exam to see what all you have remembered. Then they will test your cooking abilities on the fourth day. Day five, we will have our decision as to whether or not we will be bringing you on. Here is the itinerary.” She pushes a small packet to you, and you thumb through it quickly. “There is a map of the resort, a list of our rules and regulations, and some other miscellaneous information you may need. Any questions?” You shake your head, circling a few things in the packet before tucking your pen back behind your ear.

“I’m excited to begin,” you smile confidently, sitting straight in your chair. She returns your smile, standing.

“Very well, I’ll take you to your room where your bags should be waiting. Tomorrow, we begin.”

~~~~~

Six months into your new job in Malta, you couldn’t be happier. You had passed the interview with flying colors, taking everything they gave you before dishing it right back out. By the end of the week, the position of Private Chef was firmly in your grasp, and your move to the beautiful island country began. It went more smoothly than you could have dreamed, all of your meager belongings making it to your new home with relatively little incidence, and the papers for your worker visa taken care of. You fell into your job with amazing grace, ready to flex the skills you learned in culinary skill, as well as to hone new ones, learning about the culinary culture of Malta. The first few months were spent as an assistant chef, helping the more seasoned culinary artists with their work. Once you had received their seal of approval, you were off to the races. You cooked for a whole manner of people in the following months; rich tourists from all corners of the world, local families just trying to get away from the hustle and bustle of the capital, and even the prince of Malta at a few different points. He was a kind man and you really enjoyed talking to him when he would find you after work, lounging in a chair on the waterfront to read. You love it here, you really do.

Today, however, is a little different. A nervous energy bubbles through the resort, the other cooks mumbling in Maltese with one another, leaving you out of the loop as the glance your way. You shrug it off, flipping through your assignment packet for the day. A single name causes your brow to furrow. Oberyn Martel. It sounds so regal. On his page, it lists the need of enough food at each meal time to feed at least a dozen people, though he appears to be checked in solo. That can’t be right. Hushed whispers continue, eyes watching you as you head down to Alessia’s office.

“Come in,” she calls after your quick knock.

“Good morning Alessia,” you greet, closing the door behind you.

“Ah! I was just coming to find you! Have you seen your packet for the day?” She spins around in her chair, still as well put together as she was the day you met her.

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” You flip open the packet, laying it on the desk. “The instructions say to prepare a personal catering experience for a dozen people, but he has checked in alone. Is there a mistake?” Alessia gives you a small smile, shaking her head as she gestures for you to take a seat. Confused, you do so, taking your pen out of you breast pocket to take notes should the need arise.

“This is a very esteemed guest we have visiting for an indefinite amount of time. He’s renting our most exclusive villa. He has a habit of inviting… _guests_ to join him during his stay here, so he requests meals always be ready for any number of visitors.” Your pen scratches across the paper as your brow furrows. He seems like an interesting fellow, to say the least. “I’d recommend not associating with him too heavily. Simply deliver his food, and then return to your quarters or to the kitchen. Oh, and ensure he _always_ has a large bowl of fresh berries with his meals. It’s his main request.” You nod, wondering just who this man was to cause such a commotion in your otherwise peaceful villa. “Everything else you need to know should be in your packet.”

“I just…have one question then, I guess.” You set your pen down, looking back up at the woman who so graciously hired you. “Why me? Why not let a more experienced employee take care of this?”

“Mr. Martell enjoys novelty. Your flair of cooking is different than anything he’s had before, so it’s a perfect chance for you to shine. You’ll be using the kitchen in his private villa to prepare the meals. The pantry and fridge should be well stocked if you’d like to go and take stock of everything we’ve provided and begin to put together a meal for the evening when he arrives.” Hesitantly, you nod your head. “I wouldn’t give you this assignment if I didn’t think you could shine with it.” The smile she gives you is so reassuring, you nod again and this time with so much more confidence before standing and turning to leave.

“I won’t let you down.”

The kitchen of the exclusive villa wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You’d catered to the prince here on several occasions, and it was your favorite kitchen to cook in because it was actually closed off from the rest of the villa, giving you the privacy to talk to yourself as you cooked. It also kept curious eyes off of you while you worked, for which you were grateful. As promised, the kitchen was well stocked with numerous meats and fruits and veggies, including an entire shelf dedicated to berries. You decided to go ahead and wash those to get them set out in an ornate bowl for when the guest (guests?) arrived. As you head out to place the bowl on the table in the room, you realize it has been changed around since the last time you had worked here. Instead of the king sized bed frame, a luxurious cushion takes up most of the floor, littered with blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes. Your brow furrows, wondering if this has anything to do with the guests that your boss had mentioned. _Best not to think about it_ , you think, heading back into the kitchen to work on dinner.

The menu tonight would be more traditionally Maltese with your own personal flair. Something warm and hearty to welcome the guests and to provide some comfort after traveling. Aljotta will be perfect. A rich fish stew with the catch of the day, tomatoes, garlic, and rice. You’ll make a few sides as well, for some variety. Setting to work, you begin to hum as you run through the prep work. The stew would need to simmer, so it was best to get that on right away.

At home in your element, you fail to notice the guests arriving, humming to yourself as you mash and smooth the broad beans for the bigilla. That is, until a deep, gentle voice breaks your focus, sending the stone pestle clattering to the ground in your surprise. “You’re new here.” Your eyes snap up to find the most beautiful man you have ever seen leaning against the door way leading into the common area. His skin is beautifully honey tanned, like the sun bestowed on him its personal blessing. Dark, tousled locks crown his head and a thin, dark scruff accents his sharp jaw and upper lip. His dark chocolate eyes twinkle with a mischievous light as he smiles at you, and you notice that the corners crinkle, a tell tale sign of years of laughter etched into his skin. His posture is relaxed, popping berries into his mouth like a child would their favorite candy. Draped over his figure is a rich golden-yellow long sleeved cardigan that nearly dusts the floor, parted in the middle to show off a soft white cotton tunic with a lace up collar tucked into a pair of soft tan pants. It was elegant and sophisticated and it made him look delectable as it draped over his form. “Careful now.” A grin plays on his lips as heat floods your cheeks. You snatch the pestle off the floor, moving to wash it before you use it again.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I’ve been preparing dinner for tonight.” Your heart hammers in your chest as you feel his eyes boring into your back. His chuckle is rich and flowing and it takes all you have within you to not let your breath hitch at the sound.

“Not to worry, I should have more properly announce my arrival. Mother always said I moved with the silence of a serpent.” His accent was unlike any you had ever heard. He rolled his r’s and his words were sharp and defined, the vowels strung out as if hesitating to fall from his lips. Just like the rest of him, it was beautiful. You turn around from washing the fallen tool, returning to grinding the beans for the pate. “My name is Oberyn Martell. My I have the honor of knowing the name of the lovely woman who will be preparing my food for the extent of my stay?”

Clearing your throat softly, you give him your name and a soft smile. He repeats it back to you, and it rolls of his tongue in such a pleasurable way, you almost ask him to say it again. “You are not from here,” he states. “From this island, I mean.” You shake your head, setting the bean paste aside as you move to check on the stew, a little unnerved at someone, especially someone as handsome as Oberyn, watching you cook.

“No, I moved here just over six months ago from the New York City area to work at the villas here. Trying to start a new life.” The soup smells perfect, it just needed to simmer for a bit longer before you served it over the rice.

“So you chose Malta to start a new life in. An interesting choice. I imagine the main city is quite similar to New York City in terms of crowding.” He pops another berry into his mouth, and you nod.

“Similar in many ways, yet also completely different. I have no ties here. I’m free to start over. It’s relieving, really.” You flash him a smile before moving some of the dishes to the cart for the cabin boy to come take for cleaning. “Dinner should be ready soon for you and your guests. I’ll bring everything out as soon as it’s done, Mr. Martell.” He nods with a smile, pushing off the door frame to go answer the door when he hears a knocking.

“Until later, turtledove.” He smiles, sliding the door closed after him and leaving you alone. You lean back against the counter, trying to catch your breath. The man was an Adonis. No, more than that. The way he seemed to glow, radiating that roguish confidence… he more fit Apollo. You shake your head, pushing off the counter again. You need to focus and get this meal out. It had to be amazing. Alessia is counting on you.

Roughly an hour later, you plate up the cart with several serving dishes of rice, and a large serving bowl of soup. Plates of bread and jams and butters as well as the bigilla and toast points decorate the cart in a simple but delicious spread. The wines you were told would be in the main part of the room, so there was no need for you to worry about drinks. Your knuckles tap against the door before you open it, pushing the cart into the now very busy main room. Your voice is stolen from you as heat rushes to your cheeks again. Men and women both lazed about on the cushion, enjoying each other’s touch, and Oberyn at the center of it all. He was now shirtless, dressed in only his tan pants, with two gorgeous women hanging off of him, kissing along the smooth skin of the column of his neck. He catches your eye and smiles, but makes no move to get up.

“Turtledove! You’ve finished your preparations I see. Truly, it smells delicious.” One of the women nips at his ear and he sighs, content, before kissing them both and standing, making his way over the pile of writhing, barely clad bodies and over to you. “What have you honored us with tonight?”

“A-aljotta. It’s a savory fish soup served over rice. Warm and comforting after traveling. There’s also breads and jams and butters. And bigilla, a broad bean dip with toast points.” You swallow thickly, trying very hard to not let your eyes trace down his chest. “I hope it is enough.”

“I am sure it will be, little turtledove. Thank you for the meal. Would you care to join us?” He gestures to the mass of people, too busy with the taste of each other’s lips to be concerned with you or Oberyn. The girls he was with have taken to kissing one another due to his absence. You quickly shake your head, your eyes darting back to him.

“I-I will be retiring for the night, actually.” The words are strained coming from your lips as your heart pounds in your chest. This… This was not what you had signed up for. No wonder there were whispers this morning.

Oberyn smirks at you, and you can already see the gears moving in his head, a playful glint in his eyes as he leans in close to you, lips brushing by your ear. “Very well, turtledove. Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He pulls back with a smile, grabbing a piece of bread as one of the women, bored now, comes over to attach herself to him. You take that as your cue to leave, and all but bolt out the kitchen exit, feeling Oberyn’s eyes on you the whole way.

“What an interesting creature,” the woman purrs in his ear and he nods, leaning back into her as he watches the door close after you.

“I should like to see more of her, I think. But for now,” her turns to face the woman, pulling her hips against his, “my attention is otherwise occupied.”

Back in the worker’s quarters, you slam the door to your room, leaning back against it as you try to get your body back under control. Your heart is racing and your face is hot and all you can hear is Oberyn whispering into your ear with that delicious voice and unusual accent. And that night, after you’ve washed away the day and set aside your notes for tomorrow, that voice and that beautiful face with the sun kissed skin and playful eyes are all you dream about.

Heaven help you, this would be a difficult job.


	2. French Toast and Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two as Oberyn’s personal chef. The setting sun brings two lonely hearts together as you and Oberyn explain the pains of your past.

The next morning finds you once more in the kitchen of the luxury villa, preparing a light but delicious, more American style breakfast. You’ve decided that today would be a good day for an abundant amount of sliced fruits paired with your favorite french toast on fresh brioche. Sweet and light. As is your habit, you hum softly to yourself as you move through the kitchen, preparing the custard for the toast and heating up the griddle before selecting the fruits.

“Berries, lots of berries,” you mumbling, pulling out the cartons to wash them. You would refill the bowl that you had filled yesterday when you take out breakfast this morning. This time, you hear the door open and you look over your shoulder to see Oberyn standing there in nothing but loose, black cotton pants slung low across his hips. A heat creeps into your cheeks as you greet him and look back at the griddle.

“Good morning, Turtledove.” He speaks in a quiet voice, stepping in to close the door behind him before leaning against the counter, eyes on you. “An early riser, hm?”

“I am. A part of the job, you see.” the toast sizzles on the griddle, filling the kitchen with a pleasantly sweet aroma and Oberyn hums in satisfaction.

“What is it you will be gracing us with today, talented little chef? Dinner last night was exquisite.” You can’t help but preen under the praise, looking to him with a smile.

“Today is french toast, my mother’s recipe. With it, fresh fruits and mimosas.”

“A sweet breakfast to start the day,” he muses, walking around the island in the center of the kitchen to lean against the counter by the stove as he watches you. You keep your eyes averted, focused on the food in front of you. “But I wonder. Is it as sweet at you?”

The spatula in your hand clatters to the ground and you snap down to grab it, tossing it in the sink before pulling a second off the wall. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire and your hands tremble as you look back to him. His lips are pulled into a confident smirk with the light of mischief still in his eyes. “E-Excuse me?” you rasp, struggling to pull your eyes from his until he looks away, crossing his arms over his bare chest. You take the momentary freedom to flip the toast, letting out a breath when you realize they aren’t burnt.

“Nothing, Turtledove. Nothing at all.” You can _feel_ the smirk on his lips as he looks back to you as you stubbornly keep your eyes on the griddle. “The last chef I had when I visited here lived on the property. Do you live here as well?”

You hate small talk with a passion, but you humor him. He’s funding your paycheck, after all. “I do. The employees have their own bungalow where we all room together, if they don’t have a place off site. Seeing as how I just moved here recently, staying here was the best option for me. Plus it affords me a few extra minutes of sleep as I don’t have as far to go to get ready in the morning.” You begin piling up the toast as it finishes onto a silver platter, slapping the next batch on the griddle with practiced precision.

Seeing the completed toast beginning to pile up, Oberyn begins to reach across you to grab a slice of his own, only for your hand to dart out and wrap firmly around his wrist. He freezes, his eyebrows rising to near his hairline as you look up at him with a serious demeanor, all nervousness and fluster from earlier gone. “Mr. Martell, do not _ever_ reach across me while I am cooking. Ever.” You let go of his wrist, nudging it out of the way as you go back to cooking. Oberyn watches you for a moment, face the same depiction of surprise before it slowly sprouts a smile as he steps around you this time to grab a slice.

“Well, well, well. It seems the little turtledove has talons after all.” He chuckles low in his throat before biting into the toast with a soft moan that makes your stomach roll. “Delicious, Turtledove.” You nod in thanks as there is a knock at the kitchen door before it slowly opens. Glancing over your shoulder you see one of the women from last night bundled in Oberyn’s cardigan and not much else. He pushes off the counter to make his way to her, drawing her into his arms as he coos a gentle good morning to her.

Pointedly ignoring them, you finish the toast, grabbing the sifter to dust it with powdered sugar before covering it and tending to slicing the fruits, adding them to their own platters.

“You’re the curious little creature from last night, aren’t you?” Your eyes dart up to look at the woman who is watching you curiously. “You turned down Oberyn’s offer to join us.” You swallow thickly and nod, eyes dropping back to the fruit. “I’ve never seen anyone turn down an offer from him. Most people spend their life waiting for an invitation to lay with him.” The tips of your ears burn as she continues on until Oberyn shushes her gently, brushing his nose along her jaw.

“My dear Olivia, do be kind to the little turtledove. She’s prepared us a wonderful breakfast this morning. We do not shame others for whether or not they choose to pursue the same pleasures as you and I, no?” She trembles in his hold, his voice alone seeming to grant her some sort of physical pleasure and you try your best to not roll your eyes at the display. “Now, go wake the others. Breakfast is almost ready for us.”

She nods, whispering out a yes before turning to leave. Her eyes linger on you for just a moment before she glides through the door, Oberyn shutting it behind her. “Forgive her. She is rather new to my company when it comes to traveling and has yet to learn her manners.”

Flashing him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, you nod, looking back to the fruit as the platter slowly fills. “It’s a life I know very little about, but if she finds it fulfilling, then good for her. I feel no shame in declining your offer last night.” You slip the last of the apple slices onto the platter, adding it to the cart before pulling the orange juice and champagne from the fridge. “Glasses will be in the entertainment area. Enjoy.” You give him a slight bow, something your boss had insisted you do for the higher paying customers and which you had forgotten to do last night in your flustered state. “I’ll take this to the center room, then take my leave.” You move past Oberyn to take the cart to the room, carefully keeping your eyes from the pile of sleepy bodies slowly waking up as they bask in the sunlight that pours through the gossamer curtains. Shame was not a word in their vocabulary. As you leave, you feel his eyes on you, watching you go.

The busyness of the day keeps you distracted from the handsome man in the luxury villa until dinner rolls around and you find yourself once more in the kitchen. This time, however, Oberyn does not come to keep you company. You can’t tell if you are relieved to be alone in your kitchen, or if you rather miss the strange presence he brought with him. Chicken tonight, you decide. A Maltese chicken with a red wine and honey gravy and a fresh salad. It’s a simple enough dish, and something you’ve prepared multiple times over. Moving almost on autopilot, your mind drifts to the charismatic guest. He’s interesting, that much is for certain, and you wouldn’t be upset if you got to know him a little better. But this is just a job; you aren’t his friend, you’re his cook. And so, you bat all entertainment of the idea of befriending him from your mind.

The dish is finished quickly enough, and you load up the cart, knocking before opening the door. You open your mouth to speak but are cut off by the most lewd and _loud_ moan you have ever heard before in your life, followed by the husky growl of Oberyn as he showers praise on the woman beneath him. The two don’t notice you, tangled in their own rapture as they move together on the beding, the other guests inexplicably absent. Her hands tangle in his hair as she cries out his name over and over, whimpering at his praise. Your stomach ties into knots at witnessing such an intimate act and you feel the need to sprint from the room overtake you. You leave the cart, turning and flying from the villa, the little beret you wear as part of your uniform falling from your head in your haste to flee the scene.

You slam the door to your room, heading immediately for your shower in a hope that the water would wash away with it the images and sounds of the intimate act you had just witnessed. It felt so much more invasive than opening the room to the large group of individuals the day prior. And the _sound_ he pulled from that woman! It plays on repeat in your head over and over again and your stomach ties into knots as you ponder over what he could have done to have drawn such a pleasured sound from her. Heat raises in your cheeks as you shower, wondering just how much pleasure that man was able to give. What did his touch feel like? What did he sound like when he murmurs in the ear of the one he’s pleasuring? What did he taste like? And why… why do you feel jealous over a woman you have never met before?

Shaking your head, you admonish yourself for thinking such things about a guest, knowing that your boss would skin you alive if you so much as reach out for Oberyn’s hand. Best to just let such thoughts go by the wayside. With a sigh, you turn off the water and dry off, changing into a soft cotton sundress and your flats before making your way outside to the little beach area to do some reading in the evening light. The sunsets over the water have yet to lose that magical luster for you, and it’s calming to sit and read wrapped in the gentle arms of the last rays of the day while the water laps at the shore. As you make your way out to the little array of chairs laid out for the workers, however, you spot a figure sitting near where you always do, looking out over the surf. You freeze in place when you realize it is your guest Oberyn.

_Strange,_ you think to yourself. Perhaps his personal deck was not to his liking? You would need to ask about that later. Deciding to leave him to his own thoughts, you turn to head back to the bungalow when you hear your name roll off his tongue in that beautiful accent of his. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see he still hasn’t turned to look at you and your brow furrows.

“Will you come and sit with me, Turtledove?” His voice is so soft, so gentle, so different from the mischievous and playful tone he uses when he accompanies you in the kitchen. You wonder if his mind is burdened with something. “Or have I intruded on your safe space?” He murmurs, only now turning just enough for his profile to be outlined in the golden glow of the setting sun. Your heart stutters in your chest as you find yourself thinking once more about how he would put even the beauty of Apollo to shame. Your feet move you forward of their own accord until you stand next to him, looking out over the water as it sparkles in the dying light of the day.

“I come here to read after work. It’s one of the only places on the beach where the workers can come without crossing paths with guests.” You keep your voice soft, arms folded across the book you hold against your chest. Oberyn hums in understanding as he leans back in the chair again, chin resting in his hand as he props himself on the arm of the chair.

“It is a beautiful sight, the sunset over the water.” You look down at him to see him staring back at the setting sun. “The water shines like a pool of gold and jewels. So beautiful and so fleeting.” His voice is heavy, thick with some emotion you cannot place and your lips pull down at the corners slightly, wondering just what has plagued the mind of someone as beautiful as Oberyn. “Sit,” he orders in a gentle tone and you do, pulling up a chair to sit beside him, resting your book in your lap as you watch the water kissed by the setting sun.

The silence between the two of you is… heavy, and you finally can take it no longer. “Oberyn… are you alright?” You keep looking out over the water, but feel his eyes on you for a long moment before he answers.

“I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘alright’ little Turtledove.” You blink, turning to look at him. You take in a sharp inhale when your eyes lock with his for a moment, rich and deep and… so very sad.

“Would you like to talk about it?” you offer, fighting the urge to reach out and place your hand on his. _He’s just a guest, he isn’t your friend. Just a guest._

A small smile tugs at his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he looks back forward. “I shouldn’t hamper you with such depressing thoughts as what circulates in my mind right now. I just wished for a bit of company.”

“What of your guests?” _What of the woman?_

“I sent them all home.” His eyes dart to you before looking down to his lap. “Even the one you happened upon me with.” He holds out your beret to you and you wish at that moment you could disappear into the surf and never be seen again. “You dropped this in your haste to leave, I believe.” You take your beret back with a shaky hand and a timid thank you, scrunching it up in your lap as your ears burn. “I had brought them thinking they were the company I was needing, but I seem to have been wrong this time. A rare thing, mind you.” You can tell from his tone that the ending was an attempt at humor, but it comes out more pained than he probably intended. When he sighs after that, rubbing a large hand across his face, you realize something. He is no different than you. He’s… running.

“Forgive me if this is an overstep, and don’t feel as though you need to answer this question but… we are in a similar situation, aren’t we?” You feel his eyes on you again as you finish your question, intense and curious. Eyes downcast, you pick at the fibers of the fabric of your beret as you continue. “Running from something, or towards something else. Trying to get away from something…”

“You are a perceptive young woman, Turtledove.” Glancing up at him, you find him staring at the sky, his eyes shimmering not unlike the expanse of ocean before you. He glows in the light of the setting sun, and you question for a moment if this man sitting beside you is truly real, or some figment of your lonely imagination. “At times, it is easier to run from pain than to face it.”

“You’ll be running the rest of your life if you do that, Oberyn. I should know a thing or two about that…” He chuckles without humor at your words, lolling his head to the side as it rests on the back of the chair to look at you. You hold his gaze, your own soft and inviting and you feel your skin prickle with the intense sadness that flashes across the light in his eyes. _He’s hurting so much,_ you think, and all you want to do is reach out and hold him, tell him everything will be alright. But he’s just a guest, and you are just the cook. _Remember your boundaries._

“You know a thing or two about running from pain, hm, little Turtledove?” You rip your gaze from his, looking back out over the ocean as the final rays of light slowly disappear, the golden glow replaced by a silvery kiss of moonlight.

“I think we all do, at one point or another.” You hold your book more tightly to your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat when he reaches out and lays a hand on your shoulder.

“Tell me… do you still hurt for that which you lament?” His voice is so soft and so caring that you forget for a moment your station, looking at him with wide eyes. His own eyes search yours, looking for something. What exactly, you are unsure, but when you nod, he seems to find it. His lips quirk in a sad smile and he sits back, dropping his hand from your shoulder as he breaks eye contact. “A lover, perhaps?”

“He passed away three years ago. Sudden heart attack. It was completely unexpected and happened while I was away at culinary school.” You can _feel_ the pity coming from Oberyn and you shake your head, biting back the tears that prick in your eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do that,” you whisper, looking back to him. “I don’t want that from you, I don’t want your pity.” His eyes drop from your face and he nods, looking at his folded hands in his lap.

“I am sorry for your loss. Truly. I can’t quite imagine how it feels. But I see now why you chose here, a place far from home. You and I are not so different.”

It’s your turn to laugh without humor, wiping an errant tear from your cheek. “We operate in different worlds, Oberyn. I hardly would consider us the same.”

“Loss and heartbreak do not care what realm you operate in.” The answer is short, curt, and you can tell he is straining to keep the venom from his voice. You raise an eyebrow, looking back at him and he sighs. “A story for a story, I suppose it’s only fair. What you’ve witnessed these past two days has been how I have lived my life for years. But out of all of the lovers I have taken, there was one who was above them all. Ellaria, was her name. While I had many lovers, and she and I would share them, she was the only one I truly loved. And I thought she loved me with the same fire, the same passion. And perhaps at one point she did.” He shakes his head, rubbing at the beard along his jaw as he looks back to you. “But she doesn’t anymore. She withdrew herself from my life, told me she didn’t feel the same way anymore and didn’t want to be a part of anything with me any longer. She said she felt as though our paths had diverged and she was trying to force them back together when that wasn’t where she was meant to be. And then she walked out of my life and took my heart with her. Left me a shell of a man, little Turtledove. A shell of a man with no idea of what to do next.” Your heart aches for the man beside you, the pain dripping from his every word only succeeding in bringing tears back to your eyes.

You had lost the love of your life at a time far too soon, but he had loved you until the very end. You couldn’t imagine the pain of watching the one you love walk away from you because they no longer see you with the same eyes they once did. “I’m… sorry Oberyn.” You weren’t sure what else to say, weren’t sure how to comfort him or if you even had the right to comfort him. _Just… Just a guest_.

“You are the first I have opened up to about it, Turtledove.” He flashes you a sad smile. “You are an interesting creature, in the best of ways. A comfort, though still a stranger.”

“I… thank you?” He nods, looking over the water for a moment before standing, holding his hand out to you.

“Have you eaten?” Your stomach growls, answering his question for you and your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I will take that as a no. There is still plenty of the chicken you prepared this evening. Will you come back with me and share a meal at my table?” You eye his hand, the confliction blatant on your face, outlined in the caress of the moonlight.

“Workers aren’t supposed to mingle with guests,” you mumble, wanting so badly to reach out and take his hand. “I could get in trouble.”

“If anyone asks, I will tell them that I insisted you join me, a special request. I should think it no crime to wish to eat dinner with a new friend.” Your eyes dart to his face and you see he is smiling, the light in his eyes soft and friendly now. “Please?” Taking a deep breath, you nod and reach out for his hand, letting him help you to your feet. His hand lingers around yours for a moment as he watches you before he lets it drop, offering you his arm instead. “Shall we?” You return that gentle, friendly smile, looping your arm through his as he leads you back to his villa, this time as a guest rather than just the cook.

From the shadows of the deck of the workers’ bungalow, a pair of eyes watch on in disapproval. The boss will want to hear about this. 


	3. Company and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You join Oberyn for dinner as he requests, finding his companionship comfortable. But the emotional and personal consequences are not something you’re prepared to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Food mention, alcohol mention, angst (i’m sorry), no beta

Oberyn’s villa feels so different this time around, entering it as a guest rather than just the cook. He holds the door open for you, leading you in through the front rather than the worker’s door to the kitchen, smiling as you thank him. It’s almost strange to see the large villa devoid of life save your own. The rich scent of the dinner you prepared still hangs in the air, and your stomach growls again in protest which only succeeds in earning a chuckle from Oberyn.

“Little Turtledove, you really shouldn’t skip meals. Your body needs to be provided the same tender care with which you provided for myself and my guests.” A heat creeps up your neck and cheeks as you look away, clutching your book like some life preserver. “Let me warm some up for you, alright?” He smiles so kindly as he fills a plate for you with all the best bits he can find before heading to the kitchen, you right at his heels.

“I can take care of it, Oberyn, you don’t need to worry yourself.”

“Nonsense. You are my guest, so it’s only appropriate that I tend to your needs while you visit with me.” The coy grin he throws you after the remark catches you off guard, your mouth hanging open as any semblance of a coherent reply dies on your tongue. With a wooden spoon, he gently taps your chin, closing your mouth as his eyes twinkle with that playful light. “Careful of catching flies, dearest.”

You blink rapidly as you come back to your senses, watching as he works the skillet with an almost masterful skill. Your brow pinches as you watch him, taking a step closer. “Where were you taught?” The question earns you a chuckle as he flicks the pan with practiced ease.

“At home. We had a private chef when I was growing up, and between my studies, I would insist on being in the kitchen with him. He taught me most everything I know.” He leans closer, eyebrow arched in amusement. “Impressed?”

“Intrigued.” You continue to watch him as he goes to flip the chicken again, but your hand darts out to still his movements, gripping his wrist gently. “Not yet, you need to let the crust build up a little bit more or it will get soggy instead of crisp when you pull it out. Wait for the chicken to let go of the pan.” The corners of Oberyn’s mouth quirk up a bit further while he remains still in your grasp as you watch the pan. “Try now,” you coach after a moment, letting go of his wrist to let him work.

With a chuckle, he flips the chicken. “You’re a curious one, Turtledove, I must admit.” You blink, looking back up to him with confusion painted across your face. “In the kitchen you are a completely different person than when you’re not cooking. The duality of a chef, I suppose. Or did you not realize how brazenly you grabbed my wrist just a moment ago?” His tone is playful as he continues to warm your meal, but it causes your heart to race in your chest. You had overstepped and hadn’t even realized it.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s a reflex, it won’t happen again.” His hand finds your shoulder as you ramble, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Turtledove, I am not upset with you, merely amused. Come now, let’s feed you, alright?” You close your mouth, only managing a nod as Oberyn smiles gently at you, transferring your food back to your plate before leading you from the kitchen. “Now, I know I said table, but what I really meant was the nearly obscene amount of pillows, cushions, and blankets that take up the majority of the villa. That’s where I’d like you to join me.”

“I couldn’t possibly….” Your voice tapers off as Oberyn looks at you with the biggest eyes you have ever seen, and your heart melts for him. “I… guess it would be alright. Just for tonight, though.”

“Of course, just for tonight.” His grin belies his words. He would be inviting you to stay as often as he could, of this he is certain.

After making yourself comfortable, tucking your legs underneath you, Oberyn hands you your plate before moving to pour two glasses of champagne. You watch his bare back move as he works, mouth going dry at the thoughts that race through your head. You do your best to usher them away as he turns, taking his seat beside you and handing you your glass. For a moment or two there is silence, save for the scratching of your silverware against the china in your lap, of the soft sips from your glasses. Oberyn gazes out the window, watching the surf in the moonlight as you eat, simply enjoying your company. He, however, is the first to break the silence.

“Tell me, Turtledove, about yourself. As friends we should know each other, no?” His beautifully rich gaze falls back on you and you very nearly choke on your chicken, taking a quick drink of your bubbly to calm yourself.

“What… would you like to know?”

He sits forward, a curiosity in his eyes as his arm lays behind you on the cushions. “Anything and everything you wish to tell me. It could be as simple as your favorite color or author, or as complex as your first love.”

“Hmm… well….” You set your fork down, setting the plate to the side as you turn to face him, resting your elbow on the cushion to prop your head on your hand. “My favorite color is yellow. All shades of it from a shimmering gold to the color of a school bus to a deep ocher that you see in the fall. My favorite author is S.E. Hinton.” You gesture to the weathered book now resting next to the half-eaten bowl of berries on the coffee table. “And my favorite poet is-”

“Frost,” he cuts you off with a playful grin.

You tilt your head, curious. “How do you figure?”

“Because, Turtledove, ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay.’” The flip your heart does at his comment worries you for a moment, your eyes widening in surprise.

“So you’ve read the book then.”

“More times than I can count. Every time I find something new in it that I couldn’t enjoy before. It’s a new experience every time.” You perk up at his words, leaning in a bit closer and Oberyn notices the light in your eyes as you do, the smile on his face only widening.

“Do you annotate? My copy is so full of notes, I can’t fit any more in the margins. But I still feel like there are things I’m missing.”

His hand reaches for yours, his thumb running along your knuckles and it sends a shiver down your spine, but you make no move to pull away. “I do, in fact. And I feel that my own copy of the novel would closely resemble yours.” You purse your lips, nodding before taking a sip of your bubbly. “Well, I suppose we should continue story for story, no? It’s only fair after all.” He winks, and for the first time it pulls a smile to your own face, rather than simply giving you a rush of adrenaline as you try to figure out what exactly was proper etiquette.

“It’s only fair,” you echo with a nod, and he squeezes your hand gently.

“Well, my favorite color would be the red of the sunset. It’s vibrant and pulses with a life you see nowhere else. My favorite author I think you will find quite dull, in fact.” He chuckles as he sips his champagne, and it’s now your turn to squeeze his hand.

“If someone is passionate about something, I could hardly find it dull.” His eyes search yours for a moment at your remark, looking for some shred of untruth, but he finds none. Not a single thread.

“Well, if you insist. I happen to be quite the fan of Grecian poets. The epics of Homer have been quite the fancy for me of late.” He flashes you a small grin before looking back out the window.

You take a moment to mull it over before you reply. “It makes sense.” His eyes come back to yours, curious. “Are you not on your own Odyssey? Are you not currently fighting the seas to find your way home?” Where this boldness was coming from, you had no idea. Perhaps it was the comfort that Oberyn brings you with his presence. Perhaps it was your lack of tolerance for alcohol. Either way, you find yourself staring intently into the eyes of the beautiful man sitting before you, his hand in your own.

He watches you for what seems like an eternity, his look pensive before he finally smiles, letting out a laugh that takes your breath away with its beauty. “Little Turtledove, the way your mind works is beyond wondrous. How perceptive you are, perhaps I should be a little more cautious with my words, hm?” You blink quickly, leaning back from where you realize you had leaned towards him.

“I don’t mean to overstep, I’m sorry.” You quickly drain the rest of your champagne glass, setting it aside as your cheeks grow hot, the tips of your ears burning. Oberyn simply chuckles, shaking his head before bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing them so tenderly. Your eyes snap to his, wide and confused at the feeling of his oh so soft lips brushing over your skin. His lips quirk up in a smile before he does it again, lowering your hand in his to his lap as he watches you.

“My dear Turtledove, you have nowhere near overstepped. Do not look so down on yourself. I’m simply amused at how sharp you truly are. You will give even my wit a run for its money.” You can’t help but preen slightly under the praise, chest swelling with subtle pride which goes noticed but unmentioned by Oberyn, his thumb tracing lightly over your knuckles.

That is how the two of you stay for a long moment, your hand in his as it rests in his lap, his thumb running continuously over the hills and valleys of your knuckles as the sound of the surf in the quiet night whispers through the windows. It’s a comfortable silence, one that you very quickly relax into. It doesn’t take long for your fist yawn to slip past your lips, earning a soft smile from your company. “It’s getting late, Turtledove. I should return you to your quarters.” You hum softly, nodding. “Come now,” he urges, standing and pulling you up with him gently. He steadies you as you stagger to your feet, chuckling softly before reaching to brush a bit of hair from your face.

“Will you walk me back?” You don’t know where the question suddenly comes from, or what brings you to ask, but the soft smile that flits across Oberyn’s face at the request makes you think you’ve asked the right thing.

“Of course, Turtledove. I’d have it no other way.” He drops your hand long enough to grab a scarf of blues and golds to drape around his shoulders before offering you his arm once again.

The walk back to your quarters is quiet, same as the end of the night leading up to your exit, but it’s still so comfortable that you can’t complain and feel no need to break the silence. He stops back by the chairs where you met him, looking down at you as you move to face him. In the light of the moon, he thinks you ethereal. As if reaching out to touch you would result in his grip passing right through you before he wakes to realize it has all been a dream. To anchor himself, he takes your hand, once more bringing your knuckles to his mouth to brush his lips across them.

“Good night, my little Turtledove. I will see you in the morning for breakfast.” His lips curl into a gentle smile as you nod, returning the smile. The moonlight highlights the strands of silver in his hair, as if Artemis herself has spun threads of moonlight to adorn his head. How regal he is.

“Good night, Oberyn. Until tomorrow.” You give him one last smile before turning to make your way back to your quarters. Once on the patio, you pause, turning to look back only to find him still there, watching you as his scarf flutters on the ocean breeze. He waves to you, a silhouette against the moonlight and you smile, waving back before disappearing into your quarters.

As you shut the door to your room as quietly as you can, you rest your back against it, an absolutely giddy smile splitting your lips. You can still feel his hand on yours, still feel the brush of his lips against your knuckles. Your heart thrums in your chest in a frantic rhythm as you twirl around on your toes, dancing in the moonlight filtering through your sheer curtains. The last time you felt this way… it was the day Austin had asked to marry you. The thought sobers you just a touch, your dancing ceasing as you move to look out your window.

“Are you watching, Austin? Can you see me? Is this… okay?” You watch the moon in the sky as if she would give you some indication of your deceased lover’s wishes before stepping back with a sigh to prepare for bed. You needed to sleep to rise early tomorrow for breakfast. This was a thought for tomorrow.

Oberyn watches as your door closes, lingering by the chairs as he turns to look back out over the water. Ellaria always loved it here, often dozing as the waves crashed against the shoreline, licking at the sand. She loved to watch as her footprints were washed away in the surf, never failing to comment on how she was now a part of the ocean herself, free and unbridled. His Calypso, he would call her. A pang of guilt and sadness eats at his heart as he walks along the surf towards his empty villa. He misses her so desperately, his paramore, his Calypso, his Ellaria.

Tears brim and spillover down his sun-kissed cheeks, getting caught in the beard that lines his jaw as he falls to his knees in the surf. He buries his face in his hands as he lets out a choked sob, a hole in his heart that threatens to consume him. How he wishes the surf would carry him away as it did her footprints. How he wishes the sound of the surf would soothe him as it soothed her. How he wishes she was here. How he wishes she could meet… you….

The tears begin to slow as you worm your way back into his thoughts. Your smile, your laugh, your tenacity in the kitchen. The way your eyes lit up as you spoke of your favorite book…. Ellaria would have loved you, he’s certain of it. You have that spark of life that she adored. His eyes travel up to the stars above him as the wind caresses his face. So much beauty here on the shores of Malta. But what is this beauty if one must experience it alone? Oberyn looks back over his shoulder to your quarters, the light in your room finally turning off as you settle in, and a soft smile once more finds his lips. His little Turtledove. He would see you in the morning.

~~~

The sound of your alarm blaring in your ear rouses you from a fitful sleep. With a groan, you slap the dismiss button before sitting up in bed, trying to will your soul to return to your body. You had slept terribly, dreams filled with brilliant yellows and golds and a deep, rich laugh that melted away from your grasp the moment you reached for them. Always moving farther and farther from you. You decide it best to not dwell too much on the dreams, swinging your legs off the side of your bed as you begin dressing for the day.

You move about the worker’s quarters as if nothing had happened last night, certain that no one would have been awake at the hour in which you finally returned to your room. Slipping on your chef’s coat and grabbing your beret, you head to the main kitchen to grab a few things the villa kitchen was missing for this morning’s breakfast. You needed dates for the filling for the imqarettes, and figured you would grab a few loose leaf teas while you were here as well. The kitchen falls silent as you enter, and your nerves are immediately on edge as you wave to the cooks who simply stare at you. It’s odd, the normally friendly members of the staff staring at you as if you had grown a second head.

Brushing it off, you grab your bag of dates and some tea cans before making the trek to the furthest villa. As you pass by your boss’ office, you hear a heated conversation behind the closed door and hesitate just long enough to hear your name. Your heart lodges in your throat as you double your pace to the villa. The anxiety melts away as you slip quietly into the kitchen, laying the dried dates down along with the tea cans as you begin to prep the dough. It doesn’t take long for the door dividing the living room from the kitchen to open, Oberyn stepping in clothed once again in simple cotton pants held up by a drawstring. Though this time, he wears a loose silken robe of brilliant yellows and embroidered golden suns. You flash him a sweet smile with a soft good morning that he returns with only a soft hum rather than his usual banter. The morning grows ever stranger.

“Is something wrong, Oberyn?” He yawns in reply, leaning forward on crossed arms against the island as he watches you work.

“Not at all, Turtledove.” Your hands pause in rolling out the dough, taking a moment to look closer at the normally glowing man, only to have him look away from you and clear his throat. His normal luster is… dulled.

“I know that’s not true. What’s wrong?” Your hands return to their work as you watch him, his shoulders slumped. He drops his head to look at the counter before looking up at you, dark circles under his normally shining eyes. This morning they’re duller than usual, and it tugs at your heartstrings. “You can tell me, it’s okay,” you urge gently, cutting out the slices of dough with expert strokes.

“I didn’t sleep much last night, is all. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.” He pushes off the counter, making his way around the island to your side as he watches you work. “What is it you are gracing us with this morning, Turtledove?”

You aren’t quite convinced, but decide to let it alone. He would talk when he was ready. “Imqarettes. They’re a fried pastry filled with dates. They’re one of my favorite breakfast items. I also have some watermelon to slice, and some prickly pear to peel as well.”

“May I assist you, madame chef? It is your kitchen, after all.” He flashes you his best attempt at a smile, and your heart breaks for him. With a nod, you point to the fridge.

“The pears are in there, if you’d like to peel them. Just be careful with the knife. It will get caught in the skin sometimes, and you risk cutting yourself.”

“I think I can handle a little knife work.” He lets his hand rest on your shoulder for a moment before moving to grab the fruit from the fridge, taking it to the sink to peel. “Will you join me for breakfast today?” he asks over his shoulder as he works.

“I wish I could, but I have some duties to attend to in the main kitchen today. We’re expecting several visitors to check in today by lunch time, and I need to help prepare the buffet for lunch before I come back to start on your dinner.” You see his shoulders droop in disappointment and you bite your lip in consideration before bringing up the next thought. “Perhaps I can… stay for dinner? I’m free after I cook for you so if you’d have me, I can keep you company this evening again.”

He turns to look at you, chocolate eyes shining a bit brighter than they did when he first walked in and a weight lifts from your shoulders. “Would you? That would be wondrous if you would. This is quite the large villa to have all to one’s self.”

You smile and nod, heart fluttering a bit at the hopefulness in his voice. This poor man ached for some sort of companionship. Who are you to deny him that?

Once breakfast is prepared, you bid your newest friend good day with the promise of returning for dinner before making your way back to the main building to help with the lunch buffet. You never make it, however, being intercepted by your boss with a very… cross… look on her face.

“I need to speak with you in my office. Now.” You swallow thickly, following Alessia into her office, shutting the door behind you.

“Is something the matter? Did I do something wrong? Miss a duty?” You stand before her desk as she sits, fidgeting from foot to foot with your hands clasped behind your back.

“You know our policies here,” she says curtly, folding her hands as he rests her elbows on her desk. “Do you not?”

“Of course I do, Alessia. I keep the packet on my desk in my quarters.”

“Then you know about the zero tolerance policy of workers mingling with guests, do you not?” Your heart turns to ice in your chest at her words and you swallow thickly, nodding. “Then tell me exactly _why_ you were seen conversing with Oberyn Martell on the beach last night, before attending him back to his villa?” Your mouth goes dry, your heart hammering so painfully in your chest that you fear you might be having a heart attack.

“I-I… I di-” She cuts you off with a wave of her hand, standing up.

“You are our _best_ cook, and you have put me in an _extremely_ difficult position. I hope you realize that.” You tremble in your shoes, tears prickling in your eyes as you wait for the opportunity of a lifetime to be ripped from your fingers. How could you have messed up so terribly? “I take absolutely no pleasure in doing this, I hope you realize that as well. You are a phenomenal chef, a quick learner, and one of the best employees I have ever had, but you broke rule number one. I cannot make special exceptions for _anyone_ , not even you. The rule has a zero tolerance policy for a reason.” She looks up at you with genuinely upset eyes as the next words slip from her lips, sealing your fate. “You have until the end of the day to gather your things. You are fired.”

It is as if the world shatters around you, your blood turning to ice as your ears ring. You feel as though you’re about to pass out as she ushers you from her office. You stand there in the middle of the hallway completely immobile as the gravity of your situation settles onto you. Where would you go? What would you do? You had uprooted your entire life to come here, and now it was taken from your in three little words. The tears brim and spillover, streaking down your cheeks as the grief crushes you under its unbearable weight.

“Ah, Turtledove! Just who I was looking for!” You turn at the sound of the pet name to see Oberyn much more modestly dressed making his way down the hall towards you. When he sees your tears, his face grows dark, his hands resting on your shoulders as concerned eyes search your face. “Turtledove, what’s wrong? What has made you so distressed?”

“I… I’m… I got… I got fired,” you squeak out, and saying the words out loud shatters any and all composure you have left. Your knees give out beneath you, Oberyn’s steady grip the only thing keeping you from colliding with the stone floor as sobs tear from your chest. Oberyn pulls you against him, holding you tightly to his chest as a rage works its way through his body. How dare they make you cry like this. How dare they hurt his Turtledove like this. He shushes you, cooing softly to you in his attempt to calm you down.

“Come, let me take you back to my villa, okay? Then I will see this mess rectified. Come now, gentle one, let’s go and have you rest.” You whimper and sniffle, shrinking against Oberyn’s side as he leads you to his villa, cooing sweet things to you the whole way in an attempt to ease your pain. When you finally make it to the villa, he leads you inside before helping you down onto the cushions. He helps you out of your chef’s coat, replacing it with his robe. It smells of him, like honey and lemons and sandalwood and it soothes you. He helps you to recline on the plush cushions, brushing your hair from your face before wiping the trails of tears from your cheeks.

“I love this job, I don’t want to lose it,” you warble, gripping his hand tightly as you look up at him with desperation in your eyes. “I… I have nothing and nowhere to go if I lose this job, Oberyn.”

He frowns, bringing your knuckles to his lips to press a reassuring kiss to them before he eases his hand from your grip. “I will see this rectified, my Turtledove. One way or another.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back, cupping your cheek gently. “Trust me, is all I ask.” You nod and he gives you a soft smile, running his thumb along your cheekbone before pulling away to head back to the main office. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then, rest.” He gives you one more smile before he makes his way out the door. There would be hell to pay, he will make sure of it. 


End file.
